


undeserving

by kinneyb



Series: toussaint [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25692718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: “You’re so hopeless,” he grumbled as he reached down and around, arms sliding around his waist and tugging him closer.Jaskier decided one of his favorite places in the world, now, was against Geralt’s chest. His armor was off, slung over the back of Roach, and so he could feel him—really feel him, the hard lines of his body, the warmth. He could stay here forever. He wondered if Geralt felt the same way; seemed like it, with the way he was nosing at his hair with soft sighs./After saving Toussaint from despair, and reuniting, they start a new life together.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: toussaint [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863160
Comments: 5
Kudos: 155





	undeserving

**Author's Note:**

> written as a sequel to the cost of happiness (the first fic in this series) for one of my lovely supporters!! 
> 
> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

They actually didn’t make much progress during their first few days in Corvo Bianco; they found the nicest cottage—though their standards were low; it was actually the _only_ cottage not overrun with vines—and stayed there, making up for lost time in the best of ways.

Mostly they spent that time sleeping together, both in terms of sex and just cuddling together after.

Jaskier mentioned fetching food once or twice, but he didn’t need it and neither did Geralt—not at the rate of humans, at least. Lazy and happy, they cuddled together, contented for once to not do anything. But then—

“Fucking—”

Jaskier should’ve heard him, or Geralt, but they were both too distracted by each other to hear much of anything. Sitting up, Jaskier was out of bed in the matter of seconds, slamming the man against the wall. Geralt blinked. “Jaskier, wait.”

He turned to his partner, mouth twisting. “Why?”

“I think that’s our majordomo.”

Jaskier’s head snapped back to the man. He was older, certainly, with no hair and glasses over his eyes. Even so, he could smell the fear on him.

“Barnabas,” he said. “The pleasure is mine.”

Jaskier released him, realizing only now that he was still nude. He was quick to grab his clothes, yanking them on. In that time, Geralt climbed out of bed and dressed as well before joining them. Barnabas seemed surprisingly bored by all of it.

“Anarietta mentioned something about a majordomo,” Geralt said, though he still looked skeptical. He narrowed his eyes. Jaskier rolled his own, shuffling closer to his lover and placing a hand on his arm. No matter what, he would always be a worrywart. “We’ve been here for days; why are we just now meeting you?”

Barnabas stared at him, unblinking. “I was visiting with Her Grace,” he explained calmly. “There are things we need to decide first before we start to clean this place up.” He paused, looking uncertain suddenly. “You do want that, correct?”

Before Geralt could open his mouth, Jaskier was answering: “We do,” he said, lightly squeezing his arm. “We would like a nice resting place between our travels.”

Barnabas relaxed a little. “Wonderful.”

A couple hours later, after breakfast—Barnabas brought something with him; good call—Jaskier and Barnabas sat in the cottage, discussing the details of how to fix the vineyard, mostly what needed to be done in what order. Geralt had left early on, not interested in the details. Barnabas had looked almost offended; Jaskier had been quick to assure him it wasn’t his fault. Geralt just didn’t care for things like this.

Jaskier was happy to discuss the details; he always had enjoyed the details of things, clothes or architecture or even food. After a while, Barnabas stood and rolled up the map he had brought with him. He tucked the map under his arm and went to bow.

“Oh, please don’t do that,” Jaskier said with a sheepish laugh, standing with him.

Barnabas lifted his head, staring at him. “But you are the partner of sir Geralt; it is only right that I treat you with the—”

A bang to their left. “ _Sir?”_

Jaskier’s head snapped in the direction of the door where Geralt stood, an odd twist to his mouth. He smiled at him, unable to fight it, before turning back to Barnabas. He bowed his own head. “I understand, but I would prefer if you treated us like equals.”

He supposed that was a lot to ask. Even with Jaskier’s true nature still being hidden, Geralt was—well, he was _Geralt_ , capable of things Barnabas was not. But he knew Geralt, just as him, would not take well to the pleasantries and honorifics.

Or, well, he assumed as much.

But after Barnabas had left, Geralt entered the cottage and sat with Jaskier, an odd twinkle in his eyes. Jaskier leaned on him. “What is it?”

“He isn’t the only one,” he replied, turning to Jaskier. “I went down to visit Toussaint and buy some things from the market.” Geralt looked almost bashful. It was a new look for him, but one Jaskier quite enjoyed seeing. He reached up and cupped the side of his face. “All of them are calling me a _hero_ , Jaskier. Praising me. I didn’t even have to pay for the things I bought.”

Jaskier smiled sweetly. “Sounds like you’re finally getting the recognition you deserve.”

Geralt snorted, turning his head to press a kiss to the palm of his hand; his lips were warm against the cool skin of his palm. Jaskier could get used to this, certainly, but he knew they would never fully settle down; they were wanders, first and foremost. But Corvo Bianco could be a temporary home. A proper resting place for when they needed a break.

“I was also offered about a dozen different jobs,” he continued with a hint of amusement.

Jaskier raised his eyebrows, gently patting his cheek. “You should take ‘em,” he said. Geralt looked at him. “I know just as well as you do that we won’t be staying here forever. Collecting some funds for when we leave is a good idea. I might even play a few songs.”

“Oh, will you?” he asked. “Been working on any new ballads?”

Jaskier grinned toothily. “Maybe.”

Geralt smiled, a tiny thing but it was enough to warm Jaskier. To make him feel almost human.

“What about—?” he gestured vaguely, and Jaskier somehow knew exactly what he was asking. How did they ever take so long to realize they were perfect for each other? Jaskier didn’t know, but he wouldn’t mourn it. What mattered, now, was that they were together. He leaned his head on his shoulder and sighed softly.

“Barnabas is a good man,” he said. “Hopefully—with his help—we’ll make some _actual_ progress instead of just lounging around all day.”

Geralt shrugged, sliding an arm around Jaskier. “I quite enjoyed lounging around all day.”

“Oh, I know, my love,” he replied, patting his chest. “So did I, but unfortunately life goes on.” He leaned up and pecked his lips, gentle and quick. Geralt let out a small growl of disappointment when he pulled back. “Always so insatiable,” he muttered fondly.

*

Geralt followed his advice; he took a few jobs, mostly small ones, while Jaskier worked with Barnabas to fix up the vineyard. He collected his payments in a large canister they kept by their bed. At the rate he was going through jobs, they might never need to work again.

“They are paying me to do nothing,” he said one evening when it was just the two of them.

Barnabas had claimed ownership of one of the smaller cottages. Well, he had asked nicely and Jaskier had rolled his eyes, shooing him away with an “ _of course_.” So far the work in the vineyard was yielding results. Cottages, fixed and livable. Jaskier hoped they could eventually invite others in to stay with them. Unlike Geralt, he enjoyed the presence of humans.

Jaskier had especially been enjoying the gardening, bringing life back to the place in the form of bright-colored flowers.

“What do you mean?” he asked, combing his fingers through Geralt’s hair. Now that he mentioned it, he hadn’t returned from a job with gunk in his hair in a while. It was unusual, sure, but Jaskier hadn’t questioned it.

“The jobs—they are all for the most mundane of things.” Without looking, he could imagine the look on Geralt’s face, pinched and tight. “They just want excuses to pay me, I think.”

Jaskier smiled, lightly tugging on his hair. “You said it yourself, Geralt. You are a _hero_ to these people. You saved them.” He leaned down and kissed the back of his head. “Appreciate it.”

“But it’s not right,” he argued. Always so noble despite hating nobility. “I’m basically _stealing_ their money.”

“How about I help?” he asked, scooting around to his front. Geralt’s hands fell to his thighs without pause, like they were just drawn there. Jaskier didn’t mind. “Toussaint is a big place,” he said. “I’m sure if we both search, we can find you some real jobs.” He perked up. “I could even accompany you on a few.”

Geralt looked hesitant. “Jaskier—”

“You know the real me now, Geralt,” he interrupted. “I can take care of myself.”

Geralt nodded, though his jaw was still clenched. Jaskier leaned forward and kissed him. Once, twice.

“I mean it,” he whispered against his lips. “I want to help you as the _real_ me. I never got to do that, before.”

He had always had to hide his true nature before. Now he could help Geralt in ways he couldn’t. No more hiding. Geralt nipped at his bottom lip. A twinge of pain that quickly turned to pleasure, settling in the pit of Jaskier’s stomach.

“Okay,” he agreed.

Pleased, Jaskier stood up and straddled Geralt; the chair barely holding their combined weight. Geralt snorted, squeezing his sides.

“If I knew agreeing with you would result in _this_ ,” he muttered, “I would’ve done it a lot sooner.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

*

They found a job within the day. Jaskier beamed, happy, while Geralt glowered as he listened to the man’s request.

“More nonsense,” he muttered as he mounted Roach, reaching down for Jaskier without pause. Like it had always just been normal for him to ride with him. Smiling, Jaskier accepted his hand—though he hardly needed the help—and climbed behind him.

Jaskier slipped his arms around Geralt’s waist as they took off toward the appointed location. “Really? Sounded quite serious to me.”

For being a vampire, he actually knew very little of other beasts. Though frankly he preferred not to call himself a beast at all, and Geralt seemed to have understood that without needing to be told. Now when he mentioned vampires, to him or others, he pointedly kept the words _beast_ and _monster_ out of his mouth.

“A sprite, maybe,” he said with a shrug. “It’ll take us no time at all.”

Jaskier blinked. “A _sprite?_ ” he repeated with a hint of amusement. “Like a little—you know.”

Geralt’s chest rumbled a little; a laugh Jaskier _felt_ more than heard. “Yes, Jaskier. A little spirit, usually harmless, though some of them are known for being tricksters. I can probably convince them to leave easily enough.”

“What?” he whined. “No fighting?”

_Finally_ he had the opportunity to show off his skills and this was what they got? But admittedly he did agree with Geralt; if they didn’t need to, he preferred not to fight or kill other living creatures. He knew very well how many people would have _his_ head on a stick if they knew what he really was, despite not being a threat.

“No fighting,” he said. “But at least we’ll be near a stream.” Geralt turned his head, mouth twitching. “We could take a moment to wash off.”

Jaskier grinned. He liked the sound of that. Despite liking Barnabas, and appreciating his help, Jaskier admittedly missed when it was just the two of them. They could take all the time in the world to wash off and just— _appreciate_ the moment.

Appreciate each other.

*

Geralt was very, _very_ wrong about the sprite. It wasn’t a sprite at all, but a dingy looking beast that did not listen to reason. Jaskier was both disappointed and excited; disappointed they would have to kill, but excited to show his worth.

He struck down the beast before Geralt could even unsheathe his sword.

Unfortunately that meant his favorite tunic was ruined, drenched with blood, but it was worth it for the way Geralt looked at him after, like he was seeing him for the first time _and_ —was mildly aroused. Jaskier grinned, slithering over to him like a snake.

“Like what you see?” he purred, and Geralt let out an ugly laugh.

He pushed him away. “Stay away from me,” he said. “You stink.”

Jaskier gasped, faking offense and slumping dramatically against Roach. “How dare you hurt me this way,” he said to the sky. Tired of his performance, Roach pranced away. He could’ve caught himself, of course, but he didn’t even try to.

Because he knew Geralt would catch him, and he did.

“Hi,” he whispered, eyes sparkling. Geralt rolled his own eyes as he released him.

“Stop it before you scare Roach away for good,” he grumbled even as he smiled slightly.

Jaskier nodded. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?”

After that, they traveled the short distance to the stream. Geralt tied Roach up and they easily spent one or two hours in the water, only getting out once the water had gotten too cold for Geralt. He wasn’t exactly human, yes, but he still had sensibilities.

Clean and happy, Jaskier climbed on the back of Roach and they rode back to town, dragging the monster behind them. It was a grim sight, and made Jaskier almost feel guilty, but it wasn’t like the beast hadn’t tried to attack them first.

*

In town, the man paid them _double_ what they had agreed on. Geralt stared at the pouch of money like he was offering him poison. Rolling his eyes, Jaskier took the bag and smiled sweetly.

“Thank you,” he said kindly.

The man bowed his head. “Of course. Thank you, sir Jaskier.” He turned to Geralt. “Master Witcher.”

Jaskier could see the veins popping out of Geralt’s forehead. He patted his arm and they took off back toward Corvo Bianco. But—“ _Wait!”_

Jaskier turned as the man jogged up to them, holding something. It was a small trinket of some kind, tarnished and old, but well-loved. Geralt eyed it just as skeptically as he had the money. Jaskier once again took charge, accepting it.

“A family heirloom,” he explained in his raspy voice, bowing again. “We would like you to have it. As thanks.”

Geralt opened his mouth, undoubtedly to say something unpleasant. Jaskier stopped him with a look, and his mouth snapped shut.

“Thank you,” he said to the man. “Have a lovely night.”

With a nod in Geralt’s direction, they took back off toward Corvo Bianco. Jaskier tucked the trinket in one of the saddlebags, smiling slightly. It was sweet, he thought, how much these people adored Geralt. He was finally being treated as he deserved: like a hero. Sighing softly, he looked up.

“Geralt,” he said. “Stop.”

He stopped and Jaskier slipped off, landing gracefully. Geralt’s eyes flickered around like he was expecting danger. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he replied, grinning at him. “Just a nice night, don’t you think? Why rush?”

Geralt snorted dryly, but dismounted Roach all the same. They continued toward Corvo Bianco, walking the path alongside Roach. Jaskier kept stealing glances at Geralt; appreciating the way the moonlight cast shadows upon his face.

He eventually noticed. “What? Got something on my face?”

Jaskier laughed softly, reaching for one of his hands. It was still amazing to Jaskier that he let him grab it and hold it, even now. It was still too new to him. Hard to believe. But he would appreciate every second he was allowed to do it.

They walked, holding hands, down the path.

Jaskier’s eyes flickered to the pouch of coins and then—to the trinket, peeking out of one of the saddlebags. “I almost don’t want to leave,” he admitted, a quiet confession he’d been sitting on for a while. Geralt stopped, and he stopped with him. “I mean, this place is _amazing_ , Geralt. Corvo Bianco is on the way to beauty again, and the people—” Jaskier turned toward him. “They _adore_ you, like they should.”

Geralt was silent for a few long seconds. “We should stay,” he said, “if that is what you really want.”

Jaskier blinked, eyes widening. He hadn’t expected that, and without even a fight. He squeezed his hand, reaching up with his other hand to cup the side of his face. “You don’t want to do that,” he said, knowing him. Lover or not, he knew him. “And I understand why, really. Traveling is better for me, anyway.” He smiled a little. “How am I supposed to write about the wonders of the White Wolf if we’re cooped up in one place?”

“You’re so hopeless,” he grumbled as he reached down and around, arms sliding around his waist and tugging him closer.

Jaskier decided one of his favorite places in the world, now, was against Geralt’s chest. His armor was off, slung over the back of Roach, and so he could feel him— _really_ feel him, the hard lines of his body, the warmth. He could stay here forever. He wondered if Geralt felt the same way; seemed like it, with the way he was nosing at his hair with soft sighs.

They might have stayed like that forever, actually, if not for the sudden sound of Roach’s hooves.

Jaskier pulled back, not understanding at first. But then he saw Roach, halfway down the path, galloping at a fast pace. He turned toward Geralt, who looked equally as affronted. “Roach!” he called but the horse disappeared around a bend and out of sight.

They were both silent for a long moment, staring after her.

“Um. Why did your horse just abandon us?” he asked in amusement.

Geralt sighed heavily. “I think she takes after me,” he mumbled, eyes twinkling. “Affection in heavy doses makes her uncomfortable.”

Jaskier tossed his head back, laughing loudly. “Oh, well,” he said, shrugging. It wasn’t like they couldn’t both run faster than any human. But even so, he didn’t want to. He turned, taking Geralt’s hand back in his own. “I hope she doesn’t get hurt,” he said as they continued down the path, following Roach’s prints in the dirt.

“She can take care of herself,” he said with a hint of pride.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You and your horses,” he grumbled. “Should I be jealous?”

“Hmm.” Geralt stared ahead, the corners of his mouth lifting in a tiny smile. “Maybe.”

Jaskier elbowed him, hard, because he knew he could take it. Geralt enjoyed it, even, elbowing him back.

*

Barnabas was waiting for them when they arrived, scratching behind one of Roach’s ears. Jaskier walked up, stopping in front of Roach. “Traitor,” he said, glaring playfully. Roach snorted once, ears twitching, and he grinned suddenly, taking over scratching her head as Barnabas approached Geralt, holding the trinket.

“This fell out of your bags,” he explained with a slight bow.

Jaskier looked over, watching as Geralt slowly took the trinket in his hands, holding it with an unexpected gentleness. He was tense, unsure of what to expect, until finally Geralt looked up with an almost-smile. To anyone else it might’ve looked like a grimace, but Jaskier knew better.

“Thank you,” he said. “Could you show Roach to the stables?”

Barnabas looked pleasantly surprised. With a nod, he walked over and took Roach from Jaskier, leading her to the stables they had fixed up only recently. They were still far from the nicest stables, a little cramped and lacking, but Jaskier had plans to fix them up more in the future. Since they’d be visiting a lot more often, Roach deserved a nice space of her own.

He approached Geralt, still holding the trinket. “Kind of sweet, don’t you think?” he asked, taking the trinket from him with a small smile.

“More like useless,” he replied instantly before forcing his eyes shut and open again. “But sweet,” he admitted almost sheepishly.

*

Jaskier watched from the doorway as Geralt forced—okay, _forced_ was a strong word, but he certainly didn’t look _pleased_ to help—Barnabas to help him with his newest hunt; some kind of beast Jaskier had quickly forgotten the name of.

It was ugly, that much was certain, and took up most of the sizable table.

Barnabas made a face as Geralt sliced through one of the beast’s limbs with his sword, quick and clean. “Here,” he said gruffly.

Barnabas obediently thrust the bucket he was holding in his direction. Geralt dropped the limb in the bucket with a _thump_. Jaskier’s nose twitched at the foul odor, finally stepping into the kitchen. “Do you have to stink up the whole place with that thing?”

“You know I do,” he replied without looking, moving around the table. “Without Yen, I’m having to make my own elixirs.”

Barnabas looked rightfully lost, but smartly did not ask any questions. His eyes widened when Geralt discarded his sword for a smaller blade, better for precision. Jaskier took pity on him and grabbed the bucket.

“Go,” he said, and he nodded once before stumbling out of the room.

Geralt looked up, mouth twisting. “I thought you were gardening,” he said, and the words were so odd coming out of his mouth that Jaskier almost laughed. Gardening. Well, it wasn’t untrue, but still. _Odd_. In the best of ways, of course. He smiled, holding out the bucket when Geralt finished extracting some of the beast’s organs.

“I got bored,” he replied breezily, glancing down at the contents of the bucket, nose scrunching. “And what is more fun than helping my partner dismember a beast?”

Geralt snorted dryly before continuing to work. Jaskier watched for a while, a silent observer.

“You could invite Yennefer here,” he said eventually.

He wasn’t surprised by Geralt’s reaction, shoulders hunching high and jaw clenching. They hadn’t really talked about her since, well, since _this_ had all happened. Jaskier assumed he felt a lot of complicated things for the woman, given their past, but for once Jaskier didn’t feel any jealously or even envy toward her. He was surprised by how secure he felt, both in himself and in his relationship with Geralt.

Jaskier knew she would always be part of Geralt’s life, and he was okay with that.

“Why would I do that?” he replied after a long stretch of silence, finished with the beast. He took the bucket from Jaskier. “ _This_ —” He gestured around “—is supposed to be for us. Our thing.”

Jaskier followed him out of the kitchen and down the hall to their room. He had a few tools on the bed alongside ingredients and a dozen or so empty vials. “It is,” he said with a confidence he truly felt. “This place belongs to you and I, Geralt. Yennefer being here won’t change that.” He walked to the bed, perching on the very edge as not to disturb anything. “Not if we don’t let it.”

Geralt paused, not looking at him. “You really want her here?”

“I want you to be happy,” he countered truthfully. “Not to mention, I worry.” Jaskier reached out and picked up one of the empty vials. “No offense, but you aren’t exactly the best herbalist.”

Geralt snorted again, shoulders slumping. Jaskier smiled slightly.

“I’ll invite her,” he said, “but don’t have any expectations. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”

Jaskier nodded, understanding completely. He _had_ been there. Standing up, he walked around the bed and kissed him lightly on the shoulder, right over a particularly nasty scar. Geralt looked at him with a softness in his eyes that made his chest explode with butterflies, warm and fuzzy.

“Do you ever feel like you might be dreaming?”

Geralt blinked once. “What do you mean?” Then, with a hint of worry: “Why, do you feel weird?”

Jaskier let out a soft laugh, cupping the side of his neck, thumbing his jaw. “No, just—I never thought I could have this,” he admitted shyly.

He blinked again before leaning in, lightly brushing their lips together. It was a quick and soft kiss, untainted. The best kind of kiss in Jaskier’s opinion, the kind that _really_ made his knees weak. Because it wasn’t in search of more, of sex, but just a kiss for the sake of kissing.

Pulling back, Geralt turned away and returned to his work. Jaskier stayed to watch.

*

Geralt returned one day while Jaskier was gardening. He jumped up at the sight of Roach in the distance, smiling brightly.

Barnabas appeared from his small cottage and took Roach without question. Geralt nodded his thanks.

“So,” Jaskier said, holding a flower behind his back. “Find any jobs?”

Geralt looked mildly amused. “Why are you hiding a flower behind your back?”

He groaned, pulling his hand around. “How did you know?” he grumbled. It was one of the first flowers from his garden. He couldn’t believe, really, that they had been there that long. He knew it was only a matter of time until they left. The war was still happening, even if they were tucked away and safe. For now, at least. “Look, my flowers are blooming.”

Geralt eyed the flower. “Is it supposed to be so… _saggy?_ ”

Jaskier pouted. “Hey, don’t insult it.” Reaching up, he tucked it behind one of Geralt’s ears, ignoring his loud sigh. “There, perfect.”

But he didn’t pull it out, so. Still a win. “I did find a job,” he said. “Apparently there is legend of a wight in Toussaint.” Jaskier blinked. Again, he was a vampire but he knew very little about other beasts. As if remembering this, he continued: “Wights aren’t especially dangerous,” he explained. “Not to us, at least, but they can be a problem for humans. They look like humans, just…” He pointed at the flower in his hair. “Kind of wilted.”

Jaskier plucked the flower out of his hair. “How sad. Did you want help?”

“I should be able to take care of it myself,” he replied. “Go ahead and return to your _gardening_ ,” he said with a hint of amusement, eyes sparkling. There was no real judgment in his tone though, so Jaskier just pecked him on the lips before returning to work.

*

Geralt set back out later that day when the sun was almost out of the sky. On the back of Roach, he rode to the area the residents of Toussaint had mentioned spotting the wight at. He realized quite quickly that the road led to what once had been a beautiful estate, though was now ruined, untouched for easily a century or longer.

Frowning, he jumped off Roach and unsheathed his sword.

He circled the estate once. Spotting and hearing nothing, he walked up the steps. The door was rotted; he pushed it open with ease.

Roach let out a loud neigh and he turned to her, pressing a finger to his mouth. She shook her head, hard, but quieted down.

Satisfied, Geralt entered the building. It really had been beautiful at one point, no doubt, but now it was just cobwebs and lost memories. Even Geralt couldn’t help feeling pity for the place. Maybe if he spoke with Anna, they could do something about it. Restore it, maybe.

In the memory of the family that once lived here, Jaskier would say, always thinking of others. Smiling slightly, Geralt turned a corner and suddenly he was being pushed back. He quickly caught himself, digging his heels in.

There, right in front of him, was a wight. _The_ wight. Apparently not a legend.

He raised his sword, already readying himself to do the job. But the wight was still and quiet, watching him. Geralt frowned.

“Well?” he prompted impatiently.

But the wight—looked like your average elderly woman, excluding the flaking skin and sharp teeth—didn’t move, just continued to stare. Until finally they turned away, walking down the hall. Geralt lowered his sword.

“Is this a trick?” he asked through a growl.

Without looking back at him, the wight entered a room, disappearing from sight. Geralt stared, waiting. What he was waiting for, he didn’t know, but he expected something, tensing for it. Except—nothing happened, just the gentle clatter of _something_ happening from within the room.

“Don’t make me chase you,” he called out. Still nothing.

Pressing his lips together, he walked down the hallway, lifting his sword, peeking into the room. It was a kitchen, rundown but still obviously a kitchen. The wight sat at the table, a bowl in front of her. Even more interesting was the second bowl and the empty chair across from her.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he asked. “Because fair warning: I don’t have much of a sense of humor.”

Nothing. Geralt was getting annoyed, and quickly. He properly entered the room, circling the table and sitting in the chair, mostly to be level with the wight.

That was when he understood. “You were cursed,” he breathed. No reaction, but he knew it was true. Geralt looked down at the bowl, chipped around the edges and full of a dark liquid. He narrowed his eyes. “Do you want me to—?”

He looked up. Still nothing, just the blank stare of a wight. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe—Ah, fuck it. He had to at least _try_. Jaskier would want him to. Always the optimist.

Sighing heavily, he set his sword down with a _clank_ and picked up the bowl. He watched as the wight slowly mimicked him with shaking hands.

“Okay, well,” he lifted the bowl slightly. “Cheers.”

Without waiting for a reply, he tipped the bowl forward, mouth to the edge. He didn’t know what it was, exactly, but it was sweet and sour all at once. Not the worst thing he’d ever tasted by far. He drank and drank.

Hopefully this wasn’t some kind of trick. Hopefully he wasn’t actively drinking poison.

Though he trusted Jaskier to save him. If he didn’t return by nightfall, he would undoubtedly turn Toussaint upside down until he found him.

Taking the last sip, he looked up. The wight was staring at the bottom of her bowl, unblinking. Suddenly their chair was thrown back and they rushed out of the room. Geralt ran after them with his sword drawn, expecting the worst.

But then he reached—her, standing outside with her head tilted back toward the sky.

She was human. He lowered his sword.

“You _were_ cursed,” he muttered.

She turned to him. “You saved me,” she said, eyes widening, before she stumbled forward and he rushed to catch her in his arms. Closer, he could tell she was deathly thin. Frowning, he gently put her down before sheathing his sword and picking her back up, cradling her gently to his chest. Well, he couldn’t leave her here.

She likely wouldn’t survive the night.

Geralt walked over to Roach and set her back down gently before retrieving a few vials from Roach’s saddlebags. Walking back over, he crouched down and tilted her head back, letting some of the elixirs pour down her throat.

She coughed violently before stilling again, veins darkening.

“You’ll be okay,” he assured her before putting the vials away and picking her back up.

*

“Did you ever think this would be your life?” Jaskier asked, sitting outside with Barnabas. They were both waiting for Geralt’s return.

Barnabas let out a short laugh. “Honestly, no,” he said, eyes twinkling. “But there are worse outcomes.”

Jaskier smiled slightly. “Sorry if Geralt ever makes you feel, well, intimidated,” he offered, looking ahead at the path. “I hope you’ve realized by now he’s mostly all talk. He pretends to be one way when in reality he’s a big softie.”

“Ah, well.” Barnabas glanced at him, mouth curled. “He’s fine, most days, but I have to say: he’s mostly only like that around _you.”_

Jaskier blinked once before ducking his head with a sheepish smile. Before he could reply, he heard the telltale sign of Geralt’s approach: Roach’s hooves on dirt, the _clink_ of metal. He jumped up with a toothy grin. “Ger—”

His voice caught in the back of his throat when he saw that Geralt wasn’t alone; a woman was sitting behind him, leaning heavily against his back.

“Sir Geralt,” Barnabas said once he had rode closer. “I didn’t know you were expecting company.”

Geralt exchanged a look with Jaskier. “I wasn’t,” he said before climbing off Roach and helping the woman off. Jaskier took a good look at her, confused. She was older with wrinkles around her eyes and hollowed cheeks and—black eyes and veins and, okay, something was very wrong here.

“Geralt, what—?”

He wrapped an arm around the woman’s shoulders, helping her to the cottage. “I’ll explain later. For now could you—” Geralt gestured wildly at the woman as if that explained everything, and it kind of did. Jaskier nodded once before taking off.

They didn’t have much food, considering they usually hunted for dinner when they wanted it, finishing it off in one sitting. Jaskier had started to grow some food in his garden, but barely any of it was ready to be pluck yet.

He rushed over to Barnabas’ cottage, using his inhuman speed, searching wildly for anything. He finally found some bread in a cabinet. Returning, he ran out to his garden and picked what he could, mostly just a few small tomatoes.

Chopping them up, and ignoring Barnabas’ look of bewilderment, Jaskier placed them on the bread and went searching for the pair. Geralt was in their bedroom with the woman, propped up against a few pillows.

“Here,” he said sheepishly, placing the plate in her lap. “Sorry if it’s not, you know, gourmet.”

She blinked at the food without moving. Geralt stared at Jaskier, and he sighed heavily. Right, what did he expect? He sat on the very edge of the bed and fed her slowly. Once she had finished off the bread, Jaskier moved the plate out of the way.

After that, she quickly fell asleep. Jaskier and Geralt quietly left the room, standing out in the hallway.

“She was alone, Jaskier,” Geralt said.

Jaskier startled, looking over at him. He frowned, feeling pity for the woman. His biggest fear had always been just that: being alone. _Abandoned_. That was why the incident on the mountain had been so hard for him. “What should we do?”

“I don’t know,” he replied gruffly, yanking his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know.”

Jaskier shuffled closer and leaned his chin on his shoulder. “We can let her stay,” he said softly. “At least until she is better.”

“Would you be okay with that?” he asked with a hint of surprise.

Jaskier was almost insulted. He placed a hand over his heart, nodding. “You have the biggest heart ever, you know that?”

Geralt snorted, smacking his hand away. “If she has our bedroom, where will _we_ sleep?”

“I don’t know.” Jaskier kissed his jaw lightly. “We can revisit the old days—sleep outside.” Jaskier grinned cheekily. “I always did have an image of us making love under the stars.” Geralt blinked at him once before laughing. It was such a genuine laugh that Jaskier was taken aback for a moment. But then he was smiling and nosing at his cheek.

*

In the morning, they learned her name—Marlene. She was cursed a long time ago and her family had abandoned her. “By now,” she said sadly, “they are all probably dead. The only good thing that came of the curse was my immortality.”

They convinced her to stay for as long as she needed. Well, Jaskier did most of the convincing. Geralt just stood behind him, nodding every few seconds.

It was only a few days after this that Yennefer visited with a young girl.

A young girl that Jaskier quickly discovered was the princess of Cintra. Geralt’s child surprise.

*

Jaskier sat on the porch with the young girl and Marlene. Marlene had healed over the last few days, enough to walk around on her own. She was very quiet unless directly spoken to. Ciri was not the same way.

“How long we do have to sit out here?” she asked for the third time, glaring at her feet.

Jaskier sighed heavily. “Until Yennefer and Geralt are done talking,” he answered, also for the third time. He had been listening closely the whole time, just to make sure they really were talking and not fighting. So far all he could hear were their hushed voices.

“Don’t _you_ have any questions?” she asked, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

Jaskier stared back, unaffected. “Yeah, one. _Where_ did she find you, you little brat?”

Cirilla gasped, grabbing a rock to throw at him. Jaskier moved quickly, snatching it out of the air. Cirilla stared at him with the widest eyes he had ever seen. It was comical, and kind of adorable. Jaskier had never been a big fan of children before, but he supposed there was a first for everything. “That was—how did you do that?”

He grinned. “Answer my question first.”

Cirilla squinted at him. She didn’t look very royal right now in her torn hood and dirty hair. “In the woods. I was—running.”

Jaskier knew the answer, but he still had to ask: “From what?”

She looked down. “To what,” she corrected quietly. “I was looking for Geralt.”

He blinked, not expecting that. But that made sense, he supposed. Geralt had mentioned briefly how he had been there when Cintra had fell, how he had tried to find the young girl before eventually fleeing. Maybe Geralt didn’t believe in certain things, but Jaskier did. Destiny had a role for them all. Right now his role was to comfort the young girl next to him, who was now frowning at her hands, shoulders low.

“Well,” he said gently, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You found him.”

Cirilla startled at the touch before slowly relaxing, looking up at Jaskier like she didn’t quite understand him. “And you,” she said. “Jaskier, was it?”

He smiled sweetly. “That is my name, yes.”

She nodded, looking thoughtful for a long moment, mouth twisting. “Who are you?” she asked. “To Geralt, I mean. A friend?”

Jaskier realized this was the first time he would have to explain his relationship with Geralt to a person. Barnabas had never asked. He had simply understood from the moment they met that they were partners in every sense of the word, always addressing them as a pair, one and the same. Jaskier licked his lips.

“We are partners,” he said lightly.

Cirilla squinted again. “That word is annoyingly vague,” she grumbled. “What kind of partners?”

Jaskier smiled down at her. She reminded him of Yennefer. “Lovers,” he conceded, seeing no point in lying. Geralt was currently in there, after all, explaining just that to Yennefer. Jaskier cringed a little, only able to hope for the best, selfishly grateful that he wasn’t the one in the cottage.

“Oh.” Cirilla’s eyes widened, big and shiny. “I had assumed Yennefer and Geralt—” She bit her bottom lip, cutting herself off with an almost shy flutter of her eyelashes.

Jaskier patted her arm. “They were,” he said. “But that was a while ago. Things are different now.”

Cirilla nodded. “For better or worse is the question,” she mumbled sadly.

He wished they could’ve helped her sooner. He knew Geralt felt the same way, even if he couldn’t express it in so many words. “I think that depends on what you do with the changes,” he answered after a long stretch of silence, thinking of Geralt. How he had pined after him for so long, thinking he would never have him. “Life is just a series of choices,” he continued, squeezing her. “You are in control more than you know.”

Cirilla peered at him. “You’re a lot wiser than you look,” she remarked lightly, and he let out a soft laugh.

Yup, she definitely reminded him of Yennefer.

The door suddenly opened behind him, startling even Marlene, who turned in her chair with wide eyes. Yennefer stood in the doorway with an unreadable expression. Jaskier waited, tense. Finally she sighed and stepped to the side.

“Ciri,” she said sharply. Cirilla jumped up and joined her side. “We’re staying for supper,” she informed her, brushing a hand through her hair.

Jaskier stood up slowly. “So—?”

Geralt appeared beside Yennefer. He said nothing, just beckoned for him. Jaskier glanced at Yennefer, who raised her eyebrows, a silent challenge. Ducking his head, he rushed to Geralt’s side.

*

They had supper and it was surprisingly _nice_. They spoke of many things, mostly unimportant. Jaskier kept expecting something to happen, for Yennefer to blow up or for Geralt to excuse himself, but they both were civil the whole meal, eating the soup Marlene had prepared for all of them. She had made herself useful over the last few days, preparing most of their meals.

After Yennefer disappeared to a room with Cirilla, and Jaskier followed Geralt to their own room.

“So,” he said once the door was shut behind them. “She’s being surprisingly civil about all this.”

Geralt sat on the bed. “Yes, well.” His eyes flickered from side to side. “I might not have told her everything.”

Jaskier sighed heavily. He should’ve been prepared for this. “Geralt,” he said, walking over and standing between his open legs, placing his hands on his shoulders. “You have to tell her about us eventually,” he said, but then Geralt’s face did the oddest thing.

“I did,” he said, sounding almost hurt. “That isn’t—I didn’t tell her about who—what you are, Jaskier.”

Jaskier blinked once. “Oh.” He hadn’t even realized that was a conversation they probably needed to have. She was too smart of a woman to even entertain the idea of keeping it from her, and she would probably be angry if she knew they were hiding something from her. “Don’t worry about that,” he said breezily. “I’ll tell her.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “You will?”

“It is my secret to tell,” he pointed out. “Now can we stop talking about your ex and—” He pushed Geralt back on the bed, summoning a bit of his inhuman strength. Geralt fell easily, already looking pleased with the turn of events.

Jaskier crawled on top of him, grinning wickedly.

*

Jaskier found Yennefer outside the next morning, standing next to his garden with an odd look on her face. “What?” he asked lightly as he approached, surprised when she startled slightly, which was unlike her. “Let me guess, not a fan of flowers?”

Yennefer pursed her dark lips, crouching down. “You grew these?”

“Mhm,” he confirmed, joining her.

She was silent for a long moment. “How long have you both been here?”

“Too long,” he admitted sheepishly. “I know we can’t stay here forever, but—”

Yennefer turned to look at him. “Why not?”

Jaskier stared back at her. “Have you forgotten there is a war going on?” he asked. “And Ciri is kind of in the middle of it.”

“I watched her for days as we traveled to find Geralt,” she replied, voice sharp. “I can protect her.”

Jaskier shook his head. “That’s not—I know that, but you shouldn’t have to. Not on your own, at least.” He reached out and picked one of the flowers; it was a little too soon, but oh well. He twisted it between his fingertips. “Geralt would never say this, but I know he’s missed you.” She cut her eyes at him. “Maybe not in the way he used to,” he continued, “but he does love you, and always will. Same for the girl. He wants us all to stick together.”

“But he wants to stay here as well,” she replied knowingly.

Jaskier shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just—I want all of us to be safe.”

“I think you can have both, Jaskier,” she said, an odd tilt to her voice. “Happiness and safety.”

He turned to look at her, smiling a little. “Here,” he said, reaching out. She tensed, always ready to strike just like Geralt. But she had no reason to; Jaskier gently tucked the flower behind her ear with a toothy grin. “A pretty flower for a pretty lady,” he said with a wink and she rolled her eyes, but even he could see the flush on her cheeks.

Not that he would ever be dumb enough to point it out.

Sighing, he looked ahead. “I have something to tell you,” he said after a long stretch of silence.

Yennefer just nodded. Jaskier cleared his throat.

“I’m not exactly—human,” he continued, not daring to look at her. “Before you ask, because I know this will probably be the first thing on your mind, Geralt is well-aware of that. I’m a vampire.” He didn’t bother with the details, or the politics of vampirism. “He didn’t know until shortly after he arrived here; I had to show up and save his arse. If we’re going to stick together, you should probably know that.”

Yennefer didn’t reply for a few long seconds but when she did her voice was surprisingly gentle:

“Thank you for telling me, Jaskier.”

He startled, looking over at her. She was staring at the garden, eyes a little brighter.

“And thank you for saving him,” she added after a beat.

Jaskier nudged her playfully. “What would he do without us, huh?”

Yennefer smiled, rolling her eyes again, but they stayed like that until Marlene stuck her head out and announced that breakfast was ready.

*

They decided to stay for a few days before moving on, knowing it was safer not to keep Cirilla in one spot for too long. Jaskier found himself oddly missing their presence once they had left, not expecting it.

“We’ll need to be leaving soon as well,” Geralt mentioned, arm wrapped around Jaskier.

Jaskier knew he was right, but he also knew leaving would be like removing part of his (un)beating heart at this point. He adored this little place, and he adored their place in it even more. “In all my time of trying, I have never felt more human than being here with you,” he replied, meaning every word of it.

Geralt looked away, but Jaskier knew he felt the same way even if he couldn’t show it so brazenly.

“We could come back every few months,” he said. “You seem to trust Barnabas enough,” he added almost accusingly. Jaskier rolled his eyes. Who would have ever thought Geralt would be the jealous type? “We can leave it to him while we’re gone.”

Jaskier sighed. “I’ll just miss it,” he whispered. “All of it.” He smiled at Geralt, leaning closer. “Especially this.”

Geralt blinked at him once. “Well, don’t,” he said roughly, taking one of his hands. “You’ll have—this,” he said, obviously struggling to find the words, “no matter where we are.”

His smile grew a little wider, eyes crinkling. “And you’ll have me,” he replied with a wink.

Geralt shoved him playfully and soon they were kissing, rolling around on the bed and lazily wrestling for dominance. It was usually Geralt that led things, but Jaskier sometimes liked challenging him just for fun. Like today; he succeeded in rolling him onto his back and straddled him, eyes twinkling. Geralt placed his hands on his hips, squeezing.

“This won’t be nearly as enjoyable in a forest,” Jaskier pointed out.

Geralt shrugged, reaching for his neck to tug him down.

Once they were kissing again, Jaskier found that he really was lost on the man. He would follow him anywhere. He didn’t care if it was a forest, the biggest manor in Continent, or just a small shack. As long as he had Geralt, he was happy.

*

“Jaskier,” Geralt said a few days later. “We have a problem.”

He looked up from his lute. He had been sitting on the porch, enjoying the weather, when Geralt had approached. He could tell from one look that the man was frazzled, though others might not be able to tell so easily. “What is it?” he asked worriedly, gently setting his lute aside.

Geralt shifted on his feet. He opened his mouth, closed it. “Roach is gone,” he blurted suddenly.

Jaskier blinked slowly. “Roach is—gone?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”

“She isn’t here!” he replied, fast and loud, before quickly scrubbing a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to—I’m just worried, Jaskier,” he said, and as if Jaskier would be angered by that. He stood up and took the few steps to him, lightly touching his arms.

“Has she ever wandered off before?” he asked softly.

Geralt shook his head. “No.” His mouth twisted, eyes darkening. “I wonder if someone took her.”

“Please,” he replied instantly, and smiled at Geralt’s harsh look. “I mean,” he continued, pecking his jaw because—well, he could mostly. As if Jaskier was ever _not_ going to take advantage of that. “Unlike most places, you are adored here, Geralt. You know that just as well as I do. No one stole your horse.” Geralt’s expression didn’t soften, and Jaskier brushed his thumb over the crease between his eyes. “But if they did, we’ll have their head for it, of course.”

Pleased with that, Geralt nodded, expression not quite softening but relaxing just a little.

Jaskier nodded back, turning away. “Let me put my lute up and we’ll search until we find her, okay?”

*

They searched most of Toussaint with no luck. Jaskier could tell Geralt had gone from worried and a little pissed to purely pissed, shoulders tense and jaw clenched. Even the usual townsfolk that approached him with praise had stayed away for most of the day, picking up on his sour mood. Jaskier reached for his wrist.

“Hey,” he said softly. “We’ll find her.”

Geralt wouldn’t look at him. Jaskier understood that Roach was not just a horse to him, not any variation or generation of her. She was family, and he respected that. Early on, it was actually what made Jaskier first realize that Geralt wasn’t some monster, not like the rumors said. He had observed him—more than once—chatting to Roach, the _original_ Roach, brushing her or petting behind her ears.

Losing her before her time would be like losing a family member too young.

Jaskier brushed his thumb over Geralt’s skin. “I mean it,” he continued with a confidence he felt. Jaskier would destroy Toussaint before he let Geralt mourn Roach, not if it wasn’t necessary. “If we ask—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Geralt had pulled away from him, rushing ahead a few steps.

“Geralt?” he asked, joining his side.

He glanced at him. “She was here,” he said hurriedly. “I can—”

Jaskier looked around, noticing they were at a stable. It was fairly nice, and the only one they hadn’t checked yet. He brightened a bit, hopeful, as he nodded and rushed forward. As if on cue, a man popped out of the shadows, opening the gate.

“Aye Master Witcher,” he greeted brightly.

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm before he could do anything he would regret. “Has Roach—our horse—been here?” he asked, sugary-sweet.

The man blinked once before grinning, showing off crooked teeth. “Oh, but of course,” he said. “Your horse stopped to rest and headed back to vineyard like she always does.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Spoiled gal, isn’t she?” He paused briefly. “What was her name again?”

Jaskier stared at him for a long moment. “You mean, she was here? And has been more than once?”

He glanced at Geralt, who—finally, thankfully—looked to be calming down. The man nodded, pulling a rolled up piece of parchment out of his apron.

“She visits us often, you see, demanding attention.” He handed the paper to Jaskier. “Quite a feisty lady, but we enjoy her company. I assumed you both knew, of course.”

Geralt snatched the paper from Jaskier instantly. “What is this?” he asked harshly. Jaskier rolled his eyes, touching his arm again. He might’ve gotten him to soften up a little when they were alone but, well, asking for more was just unrealistic. Geralt would never be the trusting type, and for the most part Jaskier understood and respected that. Kept him safe.

“The bill, of course,” he said with a hearty laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, Master Witcher,” he continued with a low nod of his head, akin to a bow. “We appreciate your services, but time is money.”

Geralt squinted, unrolling the paper. Jaskier whistled. “Wow.”

“How haven’t I noticed her sneaking off before?” he grumbled as he shoved the paper at the man, reaching for his bag. Jaskier was surprised he wasn’t putting up more of a fight but he supposed they didn’t have as much need for money here, seeing as they didn’t have to pay for lodging.

Jaskier laughed fondly as they paid the man and turned around.

“We should probably remodel the stables,” he said as they walked back, staring at the sky.

Geralt stepped to the side, closer, their arms brushing. “Or—maybe not,” he suggested after a long pause. Jaskier lowered his head to look at him; he wasn’t staring at him, but ahead at the path, completely relaxed now that he knew Roach was safe and likely waiting for them. He took his hand. Maybe he was changing him, just in little ways.

“Sure,” he agreed easily.

*

Triss Merigold; Jaskier had never actually met her, shockingly, until she showed up out of the blue with a basket hanging off her arm and a warm smile. He found that he liked her at first glance, and knew that Geralt felt the same, judging by the open fondness on his face. Yes, he certainly was changing him in the ways that truly mattered.

“Yennefer said you might in need of my services,” she said, entering after them. “That you have a woman here.”

Jaskier blinked, surprised by the news. Yennefer with her secret heart of gold. “Are you a healer?” he asked hopefully.

Triss smiled at him, brown curls framing her pretty face. “Not quite,” she replied. “But I am better than Yennefer,” she said with no malice or heat, just a simple fact.

With a nod, Geralt led her to the kitchen and they sat, telling her all about Marlene and how they—Geralt—had found her. Triss looked outright sick by the end of it.

“How terrible,” she breathed softly. “Well, I can take a look at her if she so wishes.”

Jaskier didn’t miss Geralt’s look of relief—and gratefulness—as he bowed his head. “Please.”

She disappeared to Marlene’s room with her basket that he knew—now—held different healing potions and ingredients. Jaskier sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“What a lovely woman,” he commented, and Geralt leaned slightly to his left, hand finding Jaskier’s arm.

“Trying to make me jealous, bard?” he asked with the start of a smirk, and Jaskier’s insides turned to jelly.

He leaned to his right, forgoing the distance between them. “I don’t know,” he breathed in his ear, finding joy in the way goosebumps bubbled on Geralt’s skin. Human or not, he reacted like one in so many ways. “Is it working?”

Geralt growled, animalistic, and went for his lips just as the door reopened and he jerked away. Triss laughed shamelessly as she entered the kitchen, eyes crinkled around the edges. “No, no,” she assured them. “Do go on.”

He grunted, and Jaskier lightly brushed his fingertips over his jaw before turning his full attention to the woman. “Well?” he asked, not unkindly.

“She is in surprisingly good health, given her age and what she went through,” she replied as she walked over, joining them back at the table. “But I was able to give her some potions to help with the aftermath of the curse, and her joints,” she added after a beat, smiling slightly. “Age happens to us all, huh, Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes flickered to Jaskier, full of emotion. “I suppose so.”

“You should stay,” Jaskier said quickly. “For a few days, at least. I’m sure the travel was exhausting, and Geralt here—despite his lack of words—would love the company as would I.”

Triss smiled again, sweet and true. Jaskier really did like her. Frankly, if he had met her before Geralt, he didn’t know he might have chased after her like a dog after a bone.

“I would like that,” she said. “Thank you.”

*

Triss found him out by the garden a few days later, a spot he didn’t usually frequent. She was silent as she approached. “I’m surprised,” she said after a long stretch of silence, standing with him and admiring the garden, “but in the best of ways.”

Geralt finally glanced over; the sun was setting, low in the sky, casting a shadow over her. He grunted in reply, a question.

“I always wanted you to have something like this,” she replied, looking almost shy. “I knew you deserved it, at least, but I worried you would never allow yourself to have it.”

His mouth twitched as he looked away, unable to fight the smile for too long. “It was a long battle,” he admitted sheepishly. “And I still struggle to wonder if I deserve it.” _If I deserve Jaskier_ went unspoken, hanging in the air between them.

Triss lightly touched his arm. “If he wants you,” she started, “then you deserve him. Plain and simple.”

Geralt knew she was right; as long as Jaskier wanted him, he would stay by his side. “We have plans to set out soon,” he told her suddenly. “Get back to the road for a bit. I—I’ll admit, sitting idly doesn’t do well for my nerves but—”

He lowered his gaze back to the garden that Jaskier had grown from scratch. Triss squeezed his arm, now, with a quiet little laugh. “You’ll miss it,” she finished knowingly. “But you can always return.”

Geralt nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I never thought this kind of life would suit me, but… with Jaskier, I can almost picture it.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “But even just the concept—well.”

It went against everything he had ever known, had pictured for himself.

Triss stepped closer, crowding his space. He welcomed it, the warmth of her comfort. “I think you can have both,” she said quietly, “if you so wish. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Jaskier. There is nothing that man would not do for you.”

Geralt looked at her, eyes feeling weirdly wet. He was growing soft. Weak. And yet—he didn’t mind it.

“I wouldn’t be here if not for you,” he said, “all that time ago, you saved my life.”

Triss rolled her eyes. “Please,” she said. “Do not bring that up. That was so long ago. You owe me nothing.”

He looked uncertain. “But I never did repay you, not really, and—”

She squeezed his arm again. “All I wish for is your endless friendship, Geralt,” she interrupted, smiling coyly.

“Well, you have it,” he replied smoothly, and her smile grew.

*

They eventually left a few weeks after Triss had made her own exit, packed up and looking radiant, flowers from Jaskier’s garden tucked in her curls. Jaskier had hugged her for a long few seconds before pulling back and pointing a look in Geralt’s direction, eyebrows raised.

He knew what that look meant, and for once he did not fight it.

Stepping forward, he took Triss in his own arms and hugged her lightly, careful around her thin frame.

“We’ll be returning in the winter,” he explained when they separated. They had discussed it earlier, to return here or to Kaer Morhen, a tradition Geralt had withheld for over a century. They had reached an easy agreement: one winter at their home, and the next at Kaer Morhen, Geralt’s childhood home. “Yennefer and Cirilla will be here as well,” he continued, and her eyes brightened at the mention of her old friend. “If you wish to visit,” he added almost nervously.

Jaskier smiled to himself, tilting his head down.

“Of course,” she replied quickly, patting his chest. “Take care. Both of you.”

Now they stood in the kitchen with Marlene—frowning, hands twisting her apron—and Barnabas, hands clasped together behind his back.

“We will be back,” Jaskier assured the woman, gentle hands on her shoulders. In a lot of ways, over the time, Jaskier had started to view the woman as a mother, sweet and surprisingly sharp-tongued. “While we are gone, we entrust you both with our beloved land. Please take care of it.”

Barnabas nodded once. “We will, sirs,” he assured them, and Jaskier turned toward him.

“Call us by our names,” he said, not unkindly. “I feel that is only right.”

He nodded again. “Be safe on your travels. When you return, all will be the same.”

Jaskier exchanged an almost wistful look with his lover. “That isn’t quite true,” he said, turning back to the man with a small smile. “The garden will have wilted, and there may even be snow on the ground, but—all that doesn’t matter. Changes or no, it will still be home.”

He hugged Marlene, petting her hair, before walking out with Geralt, the sun warm on his face. Roach was waiting for them, tail swishing.

“Looks like we aren’t the only ones excited to be back on the road,” he remarked, eyes twinkling.

Geralt grunted. “Perhaps she finally grew tired of all the pampering,” he grumbled, and Jaskier let out a soft laugh.

“We can only hope,” he replied as Geralt mounted her first, their things packed and hanging off her side. Jaskier followed, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s strong center, hands clasped together over his stomach.

Geralt twisted back to look at him. “Are you ready?”

Jaskier took a deep breath, glancing around. He would miss this place, certainly, but he would survive—“Yes,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw—because what he needed most was with him.

*

Cirilla greeted them when they returned a few months later, hair curled and bouncing as she rushed to Roach. Geralt climbed off first and she tackled him. Jaskier watched, a warmth in his chest that felt entirely human.

“Your hair,” Geralt said, blinking.

Jaskier noticed it as well; the girl had naturally straight hair but, now, her hair was a mess of voluminous curls. Cirilla pulled back with a wild grin.

“Yennefer did it,” she said. “I told her I envied her hair, and well.” She blushed, looking almost shy.

Jaskier crouched down, smiling sweetly. He gently brushed some curls way from her face. “You look stunning,” he told her, and her blush deepened, swatting his hand away. Jaskier looked up and shared a private smile with Geralt, who quickly cleared his throat and snapped his eyes away. Jaskier blinked once before standing up, looking ahead.

Yennefer stood a few feet in front of them, arms folded over her chest. “I thought you boys were never going to join us,” she said blandly. “You said winter, Geralt. We’ve been here two weeks.”

He noticed Geralt’s dejection, shoulders lowering. “I—”

“That was my fault, Yen,” he intercepted breezily. “I made us stop in this city known for their lovely craftsmanship.”

Her nose scrunched up, ignoring the second half. “Yen?” she repeated, an odd tilt to her voice.

Jaskier smiled. “What, have we not known each other long enough for nicknames?” he asked, eyes sparkling. He tapped his chin. “You may call me Jas or Jask if you wish.”

Yennefer stared at him, unimpressed. “You should hurry up,” she said after a beat, completely ignoring him. Jaskier just continued to grin. “Marlene has been messing you both dreadfully.” She turned away and disappeared from sight.

He glanced back to find Cirilla chattering away to Geralt, who looked a little uncomfortable but happy.

Jaskier sighed and turned back, following after Yennefer.

*

Barnabas was waiting for them in the small kitchen, standing next to Marlene. She rushed forward to hug Jaskier, who laughed softly, hugging her back. He pulled back with a small smile. The next victim was Geralt, who stood stiff as a board, eyes a little wide, as Marlene hugged him, so small compared to his broad build.

Only once the greetings were over did Jaskier migrate back over to his lover. “I missed this,” he admitted almost shyly, watching their little world.

Yennefer, talking casually to Marlene as she started to prepare a meal for them. Cirilla tugging insistently on poor Barnabas’ jacket, begging him to play with her. All things aside, she was still just a child.

“I never thought I’d have something like this,” Geralt admitted, his own quiet confession, jaw tight.

Jaskier blinked once, turning toward him with a deep sadness that was quickly overtaken by joy. Because for so long he was alone, and thought he deserved it, but now he had him. All of them. A real family, even if a little unconventional.

“The best families are chosen,” he said softly, taking his hand and squeezing lightly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Geralt closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I would,” he replied, squeezing his hand back.

*

After supper, Jaskier walked out to the garden. It was mostly dead, as expected, but he was surprised to find a surviving flower—just one, bright and yellow. He looked up when he heard footsteps: Barnabas.

“Look,” he said, pointing.

Barnabas looked equally as surprised, standing next to him with his hands behind his back. “I suppose nothing is impossible,” he said after a long stretch of silence. Jaskier smiled to himself, small and private. Eventually he spoke again: “I’m relieved you both are back.” Jaskier eyed him, waiting. “Lady Yennefer can be quite…”

“Scary?” he offered with a grin.

Barnabas nodded quickly. “Perhaps I should not share this, but she missed you both dearly.”

Jaskier crouched down and lightly brushed his fingertips over the edge of the flower. “Are you ever scared of your own happiness?” he asked out of the blue.

“What do you mean, sir?”

Jaskier laughed quietly, standing up. “I just—I’m so happy. I constantly feel like I’m waiting for something to go wrong. Like I’m undeserving of it. I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never been so scared yet excited for the future.”

“I can’t answer all of your questions,” he answered, “but I do know you make Geralt very happy.”

Jaskier bit the inside of his cheek. He thought back to that morning, to the warm weight of Geralt’s body against his back, making him feel safe in a way he never felt, even with his own strength. “I can only hope that never changes,” he said eventually. 


End file.
